People I Hate at the Gym, Part II

Aside from this guy (who now needs a name to distinguish him from other gym-goers I hate and who thus will henceforth be known as Boring Grimace-y Face Guy or BGFG), there is one other gym regular who unknowingly suffers my silent wrath most mornings.

Loathed for myriad reasons, Gold Chain Guy insists on wearing a Gold's Gym emblazoned tank top every day and complimenting it with a number of unflattering, retired Floridian/my high school chemistry teacher-esque gold necklaces adorned with various charms. He's that dude that not only wears, but frequently answers his cell phone mid workout, an act I superficially view as one of the seven deadly sins of gym etiquette-- I used to think maybe he was someone so vital to the Earth's rotation that he had to be reachable at every.single.moment., but I've decided no.

Over the past year I've noticed him offering unsolicited form advice to a number of patrons. This, combined with the fact that he does his sit ups on the smallest of small exercise balls that leaves his butt approximately 11 inches off the floor and follows those up with these swing-y, feet-way-up-above-the-head, Cirque de Soleil-like ab moves which just can't be doctor recommended, has all resulted in the development of a deep-seeded and completely irrational distaste for the man. (Plus he used to be work out buddies with awful ex girlfriend of otherwise lovely friend, which only further confirms that he is, in fact, my gym's version of the devil incarnate.)

I had already successfully avoided BGFG this morning, through a series of stealthy moves, including, but not limited to, burying my head in a book, strategic machine choices based on his current and anticipated locations, and a spur of the moment detour in to "Ladies Gold's" (the only place I am truly safe) right when he was about to corner me and regale me, I suspect, with (anything but) scintillating tales of how the Sprint store is now the Embarq store. Who knew!

Maybe smugness over my perceived success led to a hint of a smile or some other mild expression of approachability, because next thing I know GCG is giving me the universal "take your head phones out of your ears" motion. I quickly pursed my lips and prepared for him to tell me in the nicest manner possible that I'm an incompetent boob and really should lock my wrists and keep my elbows at my sides when working triceps on the pull down. But no.

Out loud: "You come here consistently and you know, sometimes people don't get the uhhh reinforcement they need, so I just wanted to let you know it's really paying off."

In my head: "Why than...eww eww gross stop talking to me with your unnaturally hairless body and flashy jewelry and cell phone which no I have not heard ring thanks to my headphones but that I suspect plays some lame, mildly obscure late 70s/early 80s song from your youth that makes you feel hip and with it and just a bit edgy but really just confirms that you are a complete ass and skeezy to boot. Plus you do sit ups wrong."

Out loud: "[Awkward chuckle.] Oh. Thanks."

And thus Gold's Gym was officially anointed the new battleground for human interaction avoidance.